


all around me.

by valeskuh



Category: American Horror Story
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Fingering, In a way, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Control, Mindfuck, Other, Partial Mind Control, Semi-Public Sex, WE’LL SEE LMAO, dub con, i guess, idk how to tag this omg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 12:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17059571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valeskuh/pseuds/valeskuh
Summary: thickening the air im breathing.—in which michael has some fun with you at outpost 3





	all around me.

 

You hadn’t meant to let your mind wander.  
  
Truthfully, you couldn’t think of anything more painfully boring than your current situation. Outpost 3 was full of completely, fundamentally unbearable people. But Michael had taken you there, and Michael was who you listened to.

They’d insisted you had dinner with them- Outpost 3 had dinner, breakfast, lunch together every single day. Attendance was mandatory, and the way Michael saw it, you were no exception.

So here you were, next to him, but alien to everybody else- as they made small talk over gelatinous cubes of minerals.  
Painfully boring, so your mind was … elsewhere.

You truthfully were thinking of Michael- in particular, you very stupidly wanted to kiss him about now. You enjoyed kissing him more than anything else- his presence was like an honor to you, one you would savor for as long as he was generous enough to gift you with it.  
But your mind got away from you quickly- strangely quickly, as though your thoughts were on a runaway train that wasn’t quite your own.

The heat begins in your head as it rises to your face. You’re thinking of flesh on flesh, pounding, wetness, moans and whines and your own imagination is flustering you. It’s hotter and hotter and _hotter_ still as the fantasy progresses, as the world around you falls away.  
  
It feels then as though you’re submerged in a lake of fire. Heat. It’s all heat and all cold sweat down your neck and fire behind your eyes. Pressure on your skull and muted whispers in your head, ten, twenty, fifty- they’re swirling, multiplying, drowning you.  
One rings louder than the rest- _Michael’s_. He’s speaking to you as closely as if he were standing beside you, yet behind a thousand walls at the same time.  
  
“ _You’re_ _naughty_ , _letting_ _your_ _mind_ _wander_ _like_ _this_.”

Underwater and far away, buzzing, numb, completely pliant under whatever influence he held over you. If this was your commencement, your rite of passage, you gladly accepted the fall into submission.  
_“Human minds are weak, fragile little things. So easily molded by the simplest of stimuli. Your imagination would have gotten the better of you without my help, isn’t that right?”_  
  
Maybe he was right. You never would have admitted it, not that you needed to. After all, he knew everything, and he reminded you often. Whatever was on your mind, whatever you needed, whatever you decided to share with him aloud- he knew every intonation, everything implied and everything unsaid.  
He knew now what you were looking forward to later.

__

__

Because he was behind you now, hand on your throat, grinding forward into you as you pushed back against him. Panic set in- What was he doing? You were at the table… weren’t you?  
But everything around you is Michael. Nothingness besides him.  
The veins in your neck feel alight with the fire you were drowning in, the pressure on your throat was pulling you further into the heat with him. The inside of your lungs sear, char, contract and spit smoke back out into your esophagus. Everything was hot and pulsating as he choked you, as his hand found its way between your legs.  
  
“Michael…”  
_“Shh, shh shh.”_  
You felt obligated, pressured, willed to obey him. The thought of making any more noise left you as quickly as the words processed. You felt almost beyond any realm of being- like you were behind a thick layer of glass, like you were pinned to a corkboard, like you and him were one consciousness.  
  
Thrilling, but terrifying all the same.  
  
His velvet touch between your trembling thighs made your eyes roll back and close. Everyone else in the room had disappeared. It was you and him, you and the Devil- perhaps- and you hoped for- eternity.  
You clench your thighs together around his fingers- dripping, hot, swollen, thrumming. Those lips drag across your neck, feather-light and damp, up to your ear and below your jaw. Michael seemed everywhere at once, through your cotton-stuffed head and your glassy eyes, you could feel him all around you. It thickened the air you took in- All you felt was him.  
  
“ _You just can’t wait for me to have you.”_  
  
“I can’t.”  
“Can’t what, dear?”  
  
Smoke seemed to clear, your mind- split, dreaming- now found itself grounded once again. Your runaway heartbeat settled back into place- and you were back at the dinner table. Everybody else’s eyes were trained on you, and Michael sat next to you once more, hand, so very innocently, on your own  
.  
“O-Oh I um…”  
Words fail to form as you try to make sense of what had happened. The fever dream you’d found yourself in couldn’t have been real, but that same wetness lingered between your legs as though you’d actually been touched.  
  
Michael finds a way to play off your behavior to the rest of the Outpost on the outskirts of your consciousness as you come down from the high. To be literally mind-fucked in front of everybody like this… You didn’t know what Michael thought he was doing.  
  
_“You’re not really angry with me. You know you aren’t.”_

But oh, you weren’t. How could you possibly be upset? Michael was all you wanted, all you needed. All you knew how to hear and see and feel better than the world around you.  
And he was in your head. Twisting your stream of consciousness around his little finger and toying with it.  
  
Again, you feel pressure between your legs. Michael’s hand is still firmly on top of yours, the other hand is holding a glass of wine. You’re struggling to make sense of it all when that pressure is applied to your clit, and then downwards, lightly stroking you up and down and up again. It’s teasing, it makes you stiffen up in anticipation… and it’s not there.  
  
Nothing was touching you. Nothing tangible. You were still conscious of your presence at the dinner table, you looked around and saw nothing out of the ordinary- but the smile playing at Michael’s lips told you that you weren’t just imagining the sensation.

Involuntarily, your legs twitch open a little wider than before, and you’re unable to hide the way your breath catches in your throat as the pressure on your clit moves back and forth. Slowly, like it’s being stroked with somebody’s thumb.

_“You like that, angel?”_

He knew the answer before he asked it. You bit back a whine, tried and failed to squeeze your thighs together, like something, somebody, was physically holding them open.

The same pressure finds either side of your neck, finds the blood pumping through your arteries and cuts off the flow.  
The way your head spins is otherworldly. Could anybody else tell you were out of sorts? It seemed as though everybody else at the table’s attention is elsewhere- probably Michael’s doing as well.

A small whimper, barely audible, leaves your lips as whatever presence touching you enters you. It strokes the insides of your walls, fills you up almost completely- deep, slow, pulsating pleasure that leaves you dizzier than before.  
  
“ _You’re so wet, we might have to clean your chair up after this.”_  
  
Michael’s voice is everywhere and nowhere, like silk in the back of your head as you’re being fucked. He’s teasing you, his tone gives it away. He wants to see you squirm- he loves that you can’t hold yourself together around him. Knows when he has to take you, has to remind you who you belong to completely.  
  
“ _We both know how cross Ms. Venable will be if she finds out.”_  
  
That, too, was a tease in itself. Michael knows how strict the Outpost is on sexual contact of any sort, so obviously, he found a loophole. Wouldn’t want to break any rules, after all- of course not- an angel such as yourself? It just wasn’t possible.  
  
You’d moan- if Michael wanted you to- but no sound passed your lips. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly as you clench around the invisible fingers, as your breath catches around your esophagus being squeezed. Your own wetness is dripping down between your thighs with every stroke, every push inside of you, and you feel as though you’re going insane.  
  
_“So good for me, sweetheart.”_

You feel as though you’re being showered in heat once again. You’re being dragged under by those blistering, throbbing fingers. You wanted to stretch your arms out towards him, you wanted him to drown you.

You’re clenching in your lower stomach, tensing, only able to roll your hips back and forth against what you couldn’t see. Michael is talking as though nothing is going on, but his hand squeezes yours lightly, knowingly, then- he’d given you permission.  
  
Bliss creeps up and over your entire core as you- still holding onto the illusion of control- swallow a desperate whine. You were so unbelievably close, you weren’t even being touched by anything physical, but the blanket of intense pleasure Michael had wrapped around your mind had you delirious with want.

_”Cum for me.”_  
  
If Michael had allowed it, you would have screamed as your orgasm washed over you in waves- He allowed you the smallest of moans as your entire body trembled violently. You were soaked between your thighs, and the sides of your throat were sore- surely they would be bruised if what was touching you was tangible.  
  
A wry smile is on your lover’s lips as he leans in to give you a not-so-innocuous kiss on the cheek. “Are you alright?” He says, aloud this time.  
“Are you not feeling well, dear?”  
  
It occurs to you then that you’d been silent for the entire meal- you hadn’t caught a word of what anybody had said the whole time.  
“Yeah… I think I’m getting sick …”  
The words that pass through your lips aren’t your own- Michael’s, entirely.  
  
“Well, I think we should excuse ourselves until my little one is feeling a bit better.”  
  
That sentence held weight you couldn’t even begin to pick apart, but you had no choice. You moved without willing yourself to.  
  
Stood, took his arm, and followed him out with cum still running down your legs.

**Author's Note:**

> this kinda sucks but!!!! wrote this for a friend :)) i like writing mikey


End file.
